


Fight

by FrostysaurusRekt



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Come Eating, Creampie, Facials, Knotting, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 17:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15175766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostysaurusRekt/pseuds/FrostysaurusRekt
Summary: “Keep your slobber off my face.” Synvar sneers, rubbing his cheek with his arm. “Your mouth is disgusting.”Rawbones jerks Synvar down by his collar until the elf’s knees hit the ground. He licks his jowls with a low growl. “Is that any way to speak to me?”





	Fight

**Author's Note:**

> This is my gift for my raiding partner, Captainxcorgi of our two boys going at it.
> 
> For those of you who came here from my other works, there's no magic used or lore knowledge needed. It's just an elf getting straight fucked by a werewolf.

They’re drinking.

It’s nothing new, alcohol always flows around them. Sloshing in mugs, pouring from unlabelled bottles, sitting stagnant and forgotten after the night is through.

The forgotten ones are Synvar’s favorites. Their pungent, fermented scent covers up the stale smell of sweat. One would think that a wolf’s nose would smell the rotten booze far better than an elf’s nose, but after the drink has been flowing for too long, accidents are bound to occur.

Synvar hides the twist of his smile in his mug as he watches a clumsy paw reach for a five-day old, open cask. He watches with barely concealed laughter as his companion slams back the flagon and then immediately spits it back up, covering the floor.

They aren’t the most elegant of people, but tucked away in their small home, they don’t have to be.

Synvar grabs a rag that hangs from a rope strewn from wall to wall, the other garments along its length bounce as the shredded towel is removed. It’s still slightly damp, having been used earlier in the day to wipe up a knocked over bottle of Dalaran Red. There’s a similar use for it now, as Synvar mops up the mess created.

He doesn’t pretend to not notice he’s being watched. He preens under the attention, rests on his hands and knees as he works, putting in more effort than strictly necessary. His muscles work and flex, his back arches, and Synvar purposely pushes out small grunts of effort. From the corner of his eye, he can see his companion shift. Good.

After the mess on the floor is done, Synvar rises to his knees and wobbles his way over to Rawbones’, bullying his way into the Worgen’s lap. He cleans away the spittle and flecks of old ale, pushing into the other man’s body with enough force that Rawbones has to brace himself with a hand on the floor.

Long ago, after too many times falling out of chairs and sometimes breaking them, they migrated their drinking habits to the floor. The rest of their furniture followed suit, lowering with them- the table, the shelves, the bed.

“You used that rag on the floor.” Rawbones growls, as Synvar tosses the rag away to be dealt with later.

“I did.” Synvar admitted, settling more firmly into the Worgen’s lap. “What are you going to do about it?”

The Worgen grunts, reaches over and grabs a new mug full of homebrewed hooch. He tips back the flagon and his head, his neck craning as he greedily gulps down the alcohol. Drops stream from the corners where his mouth meets the mug, the amber liquid soaking into his fur.

Synvar takes the opportunity of that bared throat, leans up and nips at the underside of Raw’s jaw. He smirks at the slight choke and hitch it causes in the Worgen’s drinking.

“Menace.” The wolfman rumbles, sitting up straight.

The barrel of his chest pushes Synvar backwards, almost throws the elf off balance. His only saving grace is a large, hot paw at his waist. There’s a graze of claws against Syn’s skin, a hard press of a thumb into his hip bone. He gasps, arches at the dull pressure-pain.

Rawbones, for his part, returns to drinking, almost acting as if he is unaware of what he’s doing to his partner.

Synvar grabs at the Worgen’s shoulders, takes in a deep breath. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he falls apart with Raw’s massive paws on him.

After he’s regained his senses, he fights to twist around in Rawbones’ lap, knocking the Worgen’s arm away from him and nearly sending the mug of booze flying out of the wolfman’s grip. Blessedly, this is not the first time Synvar had shimmied around in Raw’s lap while tipsy. He doesn’t still until he can lean back against his partner’s chest.

He grabs Rawbones’ hand, pulls it until the Worgen lets his arm go lax, lets the elf have control of the appendage. And control it, Synvar does. He greedily holds onto Raw’s paw, bending each digit at each knuckle. He presses the flat of his thumb against the pads on Raw’s hand. He begins to react on an intrusive thought, bends a finger backward, tries to test the limits. A quick, forceful growl from Rawbones stops him; Synvar doesn’t apologize in the traditional sense, but he doesn’t argue and he doesn’t try it again.

They both lose track of time, Rawbones drinks more, but at a slower pace, and Synvar indulges in touching his partner. Raw’s hand winds up spread across the elf’s abdomen to hold Synvar in his lap, as if he ever wanted to escape, and Synvar pets at every piece of Rawbones he can. He rakes fur the wrong way, and takes long moments to comb everything back into place with careful, elven claws.

Raw rumbles behind him, around him, with long heavy breaths.

Eventually, his drink empties and there are no more within reach that may still be good. Raw’s other hand wraps around Synvar’s throat and the elf’s breath hitches. He presses his forefinger and his thumb against the corners of Synvar’s jaw, tilts his head up and to the side, and then he feasts.

The Worgen starts out with gentle nips over black inked skin, dragging his rough tongue over each one. Slowly he works into meaner bites, harder, quicker, more aggressive. Ownership over the elf. He pays careful attention to Synvar’s reactions - greedy groans, fingers clenched in his fur, and hips rutting fruitlessly against the air.

Raw takes a bite, holds it between his fangs and pulls at the skin until Synvar keens. The mark bleeds and he licks away the pinpricks of crimson in apology, but he still does it again. Over and over, until the marks overlap and Synvar begs for mercy in Darnassian.

He stops, not because it was asked of him - they have a safe word for moments like these - but because Raw has other plans for his partner.

Synvar reclines back against the Worgen’s chest, spreads his legs when questing paws start at his knees and travel up, pushing up his leathers until he’s exposed. His dick is hard and weeping just from some heavy petting and biting. He half expects Raw to stop, to tease him with the possibility of being touched, but a claw brushes against his balls and Synvar doesn’t have a second to react upon that danger-high when Raw’s massive paw wraps around him.

A cry of surprise and relief rips from his throat and he tries to buck into the sheath created by Raw’s hand, but he failed to notice the other paw gripping his hip like a vice, preventing any movement. He snarls, twists in Raw’s grasp but it’s no use. “Fucker.” He hisses between clenched teeth, lip curling in frustration.

Raw ignores his fight, stroking his cock and rumbling. He doesn’t go fast enough for satisfaction, but his pace isn’t slow enough to ignore. It ramps up, has Synvar kicking out fruitlessly, until he’s mindless with the desire to feel more. Greedy and wanting.

Suddenly, the touch is gone and Synvar shouts angrily, whipping his head around to glare at his partner. It’s the narrowed pupils in Raw’s blue eyes that keep him silent, the thin slits of a predator focused on him.

“Why don’t you go get your collar.”

The suggestion makes Synvar shiver; a whole body quake that makes his throat seize so he can only whisper out an affirmative. He scrambles to his feet, nearly falters with how badly his thighs tremble- he hadn’t realized how much he drank, or maybe it’s everything that came after that leaves his limbs loose. No matter, he has a mission and he saunters off to the bedroom.

He strips his leather kilt along the way, the only thing keeping him modest, and drops it just inside the door.

Making his way over to the far corner of the room, Synvar rifles through the shelves there. Daggers, staves, and several druidic accessories are crammed into the alcoves. Among them is a collar- rich brown leather with cracks from use. The furred lining inside is not as fluffy as it once was, instead worn thin by the constant use- thankfully it is still soft and comfortable to wear.

Synvar holds it tenderly, like the collar is a relic far more precious than any they have come across before. And that’s saying something, considering he fashioned a cloak from the fallen Ursoc’s pelt. Were their humble abode to burn, Synvar would grab the collar first and forsake everything else within.

It’s a gift, not the first or the last that Rawbones has ever given him, but it certainly means the most. Ownership, but in a less proprietary way than a collar usually represents. Synvar finds it reminds him that he is wanted. He’s not taunted for the abilities he lacks, for his small stature or how easily he falls to pieces in Raw’s hands. He’s desired, just as he is.

He slips the neckpiece on, latching the buckle and situating it with the golden ring in front. He takes a second to preen in the reflection of the mirror. The gold matches his eyes, the brown breaks up the large blocks of black on his skin. He feels kept this way, and relaxes with the adornment around his neck.

Synvar sits at the corner of the bed, golden eyes watching the makeshift door like a hawk. A slide of paper and hanging beads are the only things separating the two rooms.

His heart races like a small bird’s, anticipation makes his palms sweat until finally Rawbones enters the room. The Worgen stares at Synvar, watchful eyes trail over the elf’s body and linger at his neck. If Synvar craned his neck up to show off the accessory, that was neither here nor there.

Rawbones takes his time, saunters over to the alcove where Synvar pulled the collar from, and pulls out a small black box. He tucks it under his arm and brings it to the bed, giving it a gentle toss toward the headboard before settling at the edge.

He spreads his legs, a hint of red peeking from his sheath betraying the calm, collected airs he puts on. Raw flicks his eyes toward his partner, and down to the ground at his feet. Once, twice, and then Synvar rises.

The night elf comes to stand between his knees, cups Raw’s face and runs his thumbs down the length of his muzzle. Synvar presses at his lips and his fangs, feeling and manipulating. He cups Raw’s torn ear, running a sharp nail against the edge of the delicate shell. He leans in close, grazes his lips along the same path, bites at the sensitive appendage.

Raw snarls, hooks a finger into Synvar’s collar and pulls his partner down, staring him face to face. His lip curls, a hot breath puffs over the elf’s face before Raw drags his tongue up his cheek, leaving behind a broad wet trail. He laughs at the grimace he receives in kind. “Don’t be that way, Pet.”

“Keep your slobber off my face.” Synvar sneers, rubbing his cheek with his arm. “Your mouth is disgusting.”

Rawbones jerks Synvar down by his collar until the elf’s knees hit the ground. He licks his jowls with a low growl. “Is that any way to speak to me?”

Synvar narrows his eyes, grabs Raw’s shins and digs his claws in. “I will call you whatever I want,” His lips curl into a cruel, taunting grin. “Mutt.”

A large paw at the back of Synvar’s head suddenly forces his face into the crux of Raw’s pelvis and thigh. His fur is musty, and even as Synvar fights to pull back, Raw’s strength holds him firm. “Manners.” Raw chides with a snarl, allowing Synvar to at least turn his head for a fresh breath.

“Mutt, Sir.” Synvar coos, adjusting so that he can nuzzle at the base of Raw’s sheath, coaxing his red shaft further from its confines.

“Better.”

Synvar rubs his face against Raw’s cock as it becomes more and more exposed, leaving a slight sheen of slick along his face. He lets the shaft rest against the bridge of his nose, flicking his tongue just above the slight bulb of Raw’s knot.

The Worgen snorts, kicks out a leg at the sudden sensation of Synvar’s hot tongue lavishing attention on him. “And you call me, disgusting. Look at you,” The elf glances up at him, his vision half obscured by Raw’s dick resting on his face. Raw sucks in a breath through his clenched teeth, releasing the air with a rumble. “A good cock takes the fight right out of you, huh?”

Raw takes hold of one of Synvar’s small horns, tilting the elf’s head back and letting his dick run down his partner’s face. He stops when the tip rests on Syn’s lips, rumbling an approval when the night elf opens his mouth, permitting him entrance. He guides Synvar down, down, until he hits the back of his throat.

Eager, ravenous, Synvar pushes more on his own, swallowing down what he can until his lips rest just at the top of Raw’s knot. He hums, pleased, and Raw groans at the warmth and vibrations wrapped around him.

Synvar sets to work, bobbing up and down on Raw’s cock, gripping tight around his knot. He doesn’t even attempt to stop the Worgen from bucking up into his mouth, he rolls with the motions, losing himself to pleasing his partner. He grazes his teeth along Raw’s length and the wolfman kicks out again with choked howl.

He sits up abruptly, grabbing hold of the sides of Synvar’s head and begins bucking his hips up in earnest, pulling the elf down to match his movements. Raw growls loud, pleased, when Synvar’s neck and jaw go lax, when the elf gives him control. “Just like that, Pet.” He urges, his breathing coming short and his muscles burning from the position, curled over Syn’s kneeling form. “Fuck, babe,” He rumbles, catches a glance from hazy golden eyes. “Tighter. Hold it tighter.” He instructs, his hips stuttering when Synvar follows his commands. “Gonna make me knot just from your mouth. Shit.”

His pace grows almost brutal, but Synvar doesn’t tap out. The elf moans around him, his thumb pressing the underside of the bulb. It’s Syn’s other hand that does him in, a simple, tight ring of fingers circling around the tie.

He spends down Synvar’s throat for the most part, but the elf pulls away before he’s done. He doesn’t go far, pushing his face back up against the underside of Raw’s cock, smearing spunk over his cheek and forehead. He slowly lets go of Raw’s inflated knot, licking at the sensitive flesh.

It makes Raw twitch, just on the threshold of too much stimuli, but he likes the look of Synvar lapping at him like a treat. He knows the elf is tactile, touch means more than words, so he lets him do as he pleases.

He falls back onto the bed, lets one hand rest lazily in Syn’s hair while his other arm is thrown over his eyes. The attention is pleasant in the downtime- Synvar kneads at his thighs and calves, lets little sighs loose into his fur when he thinks Raw won’t hear. He’s vaguely aware that Syn’s making a mess, rubbing his spend covered face over the base of his dick and thighs. But he can’t be bothered to reprimand the little shit.

Rawbones bucks his hips when Syn’s chest drags over his still exposed cock, hooks his finger in the gold ring of the elf’s collar to guide him upward further. Their difference in size means that Synvar settles atop his abdomen. Raw licks at the elf’s neck, small little flicks just under Syn’s jawline.

Synvar tries to hide the slow circling of his hips, grinding his hard cock against Raw’s furred abdomen.

He chuckles at the elf’s expense. “Can I help you?” He asks, feigning ignorance to Synvar’s needs.

His partner doesn’t take it kindly, curls his lip in a snarl before lashing out. Lightning quick, he bites at Raw’s ear, and he isn’t kind about it. “Fuck you.” He snaps.

Rawbones growls, locks his arms around Synvar tightly. He stops the elf from moving, laughing belly-deep when Syn whines and throws a fit at the restraint. “That wasn’t very nice.” He says, voice low and grave. His ear flicks, the sharp pain of the bite burning.

“Fuck you, Sir.”

Raw drags them up to the head of the bed, nestles back into the nest of pillows there. “That won’t cut it this time.” He slowly releases the tight grip he has on Synvar, dragging his arms across the elf’s back until his large paws come to rest on his skin. “Gotta be nice to get what you want, Pet.”

Syn’s brow furrows, his open mouth shutting with a loud clack. He rests his head against the Worgen’s barrel chest. “You talk too much.” He grumbles.

The wolfman laughs, reaches for the box with one hand. He flicks the lid off easily and pulls out a mostly used bottle of oil- he makes a mental note that they’ll need to resupply soon. Syn’s long ears twitch at the click of the lid popping open, but he remains still atop Raw.

He pours a hefty amount over the elf’s ass, letting it cascade down between his cheeks and over his balls. Once he’s satisfied with the amount, he sets the bottle aside.

Raw greedily grabs Syn’s ass, claws pricking at the underside. It’s not hard to grab everything, not with how large his hands and how small the elf’s ass is. He kneads the globes with a throaty rumble, and slips a careful finger down between the cheeks. Synvar tenses in his arms and Raw noses at the base of one of his horns. “Easy, Pet. You trust me, don’t you?”

The elf looks up, cranes his neck while his hands find purchase in the fur around Raw’s neck. “Yes,” He replies quietly, like it’s his most treasured secret. And then, without prompting, “Yes, Sir.”

Mindful of his sharp claws, Raw plays with the elf. He presses the pad of his finger against his entrance, tests the give. He follows the trail of oil down to Syn’s balls, lavishes them with attention until Synvar’s hips begin to go in mindless little circles again.

He reaches for the oil again and pours an ample amount on the dip of Syn’s back. Some of it spills over his hips and into Raw’s fur. Thankfully, that prevents most of it from reaching the bedding. Raw grabs at the box again and fishes out a long, slender plug. With both of them bearing claws, preparation is a job best left to toys.

He uses the puddle on Syn’s back to coat the object in oil. The task is done a bit clumsily with one hand, but he’s not willing to let go of Syn’s ass. He kneads at it more, pulls it aside so he can tease at the elf’s entrance with the toy.

Synvar tries to push back on it, but Raw uses the grip on his ass to keep him from getting too far, chuckling at the elf’s keen of disappointment. “Eager?”

Instead of answering, Synvar tries again and bares his small fangs at Raw in a threatening manner when he’s still denied.

Rolling his eyes, Rawbones shifts them both. He sits further up on the bed, straighter, and settles Syn on his thighs. He puts the plug underneath the elf, the end pressed against his entrance. With a grin, he helps guide Synvar just a small bit onto the toy, and pulls him back up.

He lets go of Syn’s ass, instead opting to hold his chin from beneath. He tilts his partner’s head up, licks a broad stripe up his tattooed neck, nips at the bottom edge of the collar. “Well?” He asks, snuffling at the junction of Syn’s jaw and ear. “Get to work, Pet.”

It takes a moment for Synvar to receive the message, not from lack of understanding, this is a position they’ve been in before, but because it takes a second for the words to work through the fog of submission. As soon as he starts, rocking up and down on the toy, pushing further each time to stretch himself around it, Raw bites into his neck.

He nips and licks all along the elf’s shoulders, his neck, and his chest. He treasures each moan poured from Syn’s mouth and catalogues every twitch. Even though this is far from their first time together, Raw still finds himself learning little things about what gets his partner going.

Synvar braces himself with a hand on Raw’s bicep, fucking himself on the toy. He goes a little faster than he ought to, but he’s keyed up and isn’t quite in the mood to take things at too slow of a pace.

Raw rears back to get a good look at his face- there’s drying cum around the edges where he hadn’t quite wiped it off on Rawbones’ thighs. His eyes are hooded, glazed and relaxed, an unusual and appealing look for the elf.

His paw finds purchase on Synvar’s hip, his nails digging in and helping the elf in his efforts to ride the toy.

Dropping his head, Synvar lets out a shuddering groan and sinks further onto the plug with his next bounce. His attention is caught by a spot of red, Raw’s cock proudly jutting out, leaking at the tip. As he rises from the toy, he scoots forward, drags his own dick over Raw’s.

The Worgen lets out a surprised huff, rumbles in approval and adjusts the position of the toy so that Synvar can sink back onto it.

Syn picks up a rhythm of fucking back onto the plug and frotting against his partner. His eyes clench shut as he focuses on chasing his approaching end. His toes curl and his arm gives out, sending him face first into Raw’s chest.

Rawbones doesn’t let him falter in his pace, bucks against him, nips at his jawline. “C’mere.” He growls, drops the toy and takes both of Syn’s ass cheeks in his hands. He pulls the elf flush against him, rolls their bodies together. “You gonna come, babe?” He rasps.

Synvar shakes his head- it isn’t enough. He can feel it there, on the precipice, but it’s falling away. He keens, frustrated and ruts harder against Raw’s cock. His thighs shake with the effort and he grinds his teeth together. “More,” He demands with a hiss.

“Yeah?” Raw grins. “Need me to fuck ya?”

The elf keens brokenly, writhing and nodding sharply. “Please-” Syn moans out, choked off with a gasp. “Please, Sir.”

And there’s no way for Raw to refuse him like that. Not with Syn grunting and huffing over him, grinding against him with the single-minded goal of more pleasure.

With a growl, he pulls his partner up and off of him.

Synvar snarls at the sudden loss of friction, at being stopped. His lip curls over his gnashed teeth and he digs his claws into Rawbones’ arms.

True to form the Worgen is unphased by his small tantum. “You’re fine, stop fussing.” He pushes Syn backward until the elf’s back hits the bed. Leveraging his hips, Raw flips his partner and is quick to cover his body, nestling his cock right against Synvar’s ass. “Be good and you’ll get what you want.” He purrs and his cock twitches at how suddenly pliant the elf goes.

Syn cants his hips, grinds back against the hot flesh he can feel, very nearly where he wants it. He can feel his end slipping further and further away, and despite how irate it makes him, he knows that Raw won’t leave him like this. Attentive and indulgent, he’s sure that the Worgen will give him everything he wants. And it’s that reason alone that keeps him from lashing out against his partner.

Rawbones pulls Syn’s hips up until the elf is on his knees. He pulls the cheeks apart, rutting against his slick entrance, teasing the both of them.

“Please.”

Uncoaxed, the plea takes Raw by surprise. With his face half mashed into the covers, with just one eye watching him, his mouth parted with harsh breaths. Raw takes his cock in hand, lines himself up and puts just the barest amount of Syn’s waiting hole. “What was that, Pet?”

Syn’s eyes go hazy, his body twitches and he tries to fuck back onto the Worgen’s dick but is stopped again by the large paw on his ass. “Please.” Raw doesn’t move, doesn’t let Synvar move either. “Please,” More desperate, his hands twist in the covers. “Alpha, please.”

Raw groans and pushes forward, unexpectedly affected by the title. It’s never been something he’s asked of his companion; Synvar came up with that little stunt all on his own. That only makes the word that much hotter.

He pushes into the elf at a steady pace, stopping when the top of his knot is flush with Synvar’s rim. Raw hunches over his partner and pulls his hips back.

This close to Syn’s face, he can hear the small, choked whine in every breath, the quiet moans and repetitive pleas for ‘More, more, please.’ Desperate little sounds, like he’s afraid Raw will leave him hanging.

Raw laves a long, wet lick over the back of Synvar’s neck with a rumble. He bites into the flesh there, thankful that his companion is not so frail, that there is muscle for him to sink his teeth into. Syn bucks beneath him, back arching and Rawbones takes the opportunity to sink back into his body.

He straightens up behind his companion, pulls out slowly and growls at the sight. He watches his cock pull out and push back in, over and over. The way Synvar’s body yields to him is addictive and Raw eagerly picks up the pace, if only to see Syn’s hole swallow him continuously.

The pace becomes frantic, Raw loses himself to the hot slide of Synvar’s insides. The elf’s moans are music to his ears, driving him further, harder.

“Raw,”

His name gives him pause, though his hips don’t entirely stop, continuing to thrust at an easy pace into the elf. “Yeah baby?” He leans over, noses at the side of Synvar’s face. “Tell me what you need.”

Syn bucks back, the swell of Raw’s knot pushing against his rim. “Fuck me,” He demands, craning his neck and biting meanly at the underside of the Worgen’s jaw. “Like you mean it.”

“Oh yeah?” Raw thrusts hard against him, grins at the wet gasp he gets in return. “Want me to mount you like a bitch?” Synvar doesn’t respond with words, but his moan is answer enough and Raw pushes harder against him, feels his hole giving ever so slowly to the girth of his knot. “Need me to knot you, keep you plugged up and full?” Another rough thrust that causes Syn to cry out and rip the covers with his claws.

Raw reaches to the side for the oil, messily pours more of the slick where they meet. It may be too much, but he’d rather be messy than cause any undue harm to his partner.

Discarding the bottle to the floor somewhere, Raw adjusts his stance. He crouches on his feet rather than his knees, plants his paws on the bed over his companion’s shoulders. The angle is intense, gives him more leverage to push into Syn’s greedy ass.

He huffs like a train as he rolls his hips, putting more and more pressure with every thrust. He takes one hand and pushes Synvar’s head into the covers, pistons roughly into the elf. Raw snarls and growls, ducks his head to messily bite at Synvar’s neck.

With a brutal thrust, his knot slips past Syn’s rim, and he throws his head back with a grating howl. He pushes forward more, seating himself fully and relishing in the feel of Synvar writhing on his cock.

“Fuck, Raw. Please-” He gasps, undulates his hips. “Don’t stop.”

Rawbones surges forward, fucks into the elf harshly, his knot tugging every time he pulls back. Every time he thinks he can’t get any deeper, Synvar’s body pulls him in more. He buries his nose behind Syn’s ear, nips the sensitive skin there.

He removes his hand from his partner’s head, trails down over Synvar’s chest and to his dick. His cock is slick from where the excess oil dripped down, making it easy for Raw to create a wet tunnel for the elf to fuck into. It’s not that Synvar does so of his own volition, but the force from Raw’s thrusts pushes him to do so.

Synvar grabs at Raw’s arm, digs his claws in as he thrashes beneath the beastly Worgen. “I- I-” He hardly gives a proper warning before he comes, spending himself into Raw’s hand.

It’s this that does Rawbones in, the elf’s body spasming, tightening around him, creating the perfect sheath to hug his inflating knot. He drives into Synvar harshly, takes the elf off his knees, and snarls as he spends inside his partner.

His hips still thrust in and out, a content motion as he continues to spill. He noses at Synvar’s jawline, showers small affectionate licks over his companion’s face until he’s finished. Raw pulls his hand from where it’s pinned beneath the elf. He takes a second to lick at Synvar’s come, but ultimately wipes it across his back.

“Seriously?” Synvar complains, trying to twist and glare at the Worgen, but a large hand on his back, pushing him into the bed, stops him.

Raw licks at the back of his neck with a rumble. “I’m not done with you.” For emphasis, he bucks into Synvar’s body with a groan. “You told me to fuck you like I mean it,” He coos. “I gotta show you just how much I mean it.”

As if he hadn’t just come, Raw drives back into Syn, his thrusts are short and powerful, his inflated knot keeping him locked close. Not that he minds. Synvar doesn’t appear to mind either, gasping underneath him, canting his hips up to give Raw a better angle.

“So greedy, Pet.” He says with a particularly hard thrust. “You still want more?”

Synvar nods, drool slipped from his open mouth, soaking a puddle on the covers. Wetness gathers at the corner of the elf’s eyes and Raw is quick to lick the moisture away.

With his sensitive knot still buried in Synvar, he knows he won’t last long for this round. Synvar’s body is clenching around him, fighting to draw him in and stop him all at the same time.

Raw rumbles approvingly, lays his body over Synvar, crushing his partner. He drives his hips forward in quick, rough circles. “Baby,” He huffs. “So good.” He buries his muzzle against Synvar’s chewed up neck, adds another mark to the collection just under the edge of the collar. “Made for me.”

Synvar’s hand shoots out, reaches back with and open palm, fingers flexing. Raw is quick to take it, thread his fingers through the gaps in Synvar’s. “B-” Syn starts, cut off with a gasp. “Big Boy.”

The Worgen chuckles, fucking into Synvar quicker now. He eats up every little sound that’s punched out of his partner, every whine, moan, and desperate ‘please’.

His end is coming quickly, much quicker than before and he growls low as he comes. His knot does it’s job for the most part, keeping Synvar plugged up, but a bit of his spend escapes, leaks from the elf obscenely.

Syn keens, stretches underneath him and lets out loud, wet gasps. He clings to Raw’s hand, his grip like a vice, and that’s enough for Raw.

He settles in where he is, still blanketing the elf. He lets out little rumbles and swipes his thumb over the back of Syn’s hand.

Eventually his knot deflates and he slips out of his partner, placating the other man’s cry with tender licks over his shoulders. He growls possessively when he sees his come leaking from Syn’s wrecked hole, can’t resist the urge to slide down and lick at his entrance.

Synvar shouts with surprise, tries to get away from the sensation, but Raw is quicker in this moment. He hooks his arms around the elf’s thighs, keeps him in place and continues to eat him out. He’s mindful of his fangs, but it doesn’t stop him from grazing his teeth over the puffy entrance, chuckling when Synvar goes rigid with a moan.

He delves into Synvar’s gaping hole with his long tongue, mashing his muzzle between his partner’s cheeks for more access. Raw doesn’t favor the taste of himself, but he does enjoy the choked noises he wrings and the squirming elf in his grasp.

Raw grins, nipping at an asscheek. “Now you’ve got room for more, Pet.”

Synvar twists, looks over his shoulder with surprise, but he doesn’t protest. In fact, he goes pliant when Raw rearranges them back at the head of the bed, nested into the pillows. He settles Synvar against him, back to chest.

With his large paws hooked under Synvar’s knees, he spreads the elf wide, exposes him to the empty room and Raw makes a mental note to invest in a mirror at some point. He’s sure that Syn’s got enough of an ego to get off on seeing himself being fucked. Nevermind the fact that Raw would absolutely love to know what this looks like from the front.

The elf aids him, holding Raw’s cock steady as he’s lowered onto it. Sensitive, he throws his head back with a soft whine. “You-” He gasps as he slips over the knot. It goes in easy this time, smaller, and with him stretched out already. “You are insatiable.”

Raw raises him up and lets him drop back down, chuckling at the punched out little moan he gets. “Only for you, Pet.” He begins fucking Synvar onto his cock, rocking his hips up into the elf on the way down. “You love it,” He purrs, taunting his partner. “Love getting fucked, knowing you belong to me.”

He slides down until the bulk of Synvar’s weight is on his chest. He fucks up into Syn, letting go of one of the elf’s legs and hooking a claw into his collar, tugging at it.

Synvar does what he can to push onto Raw’s dick, feeling the knot begin to swell. “K-keep telling yourself that.” He sneers half-heartedly.

Picking up the pace, Raw laughs. “Am I wrong?” He asks with a brutal thrust, making Synvar groan rather than answer properly. “I bet I could keep you knotted for days and you wouldn’t complain.” He pulls Synvar down onto his cock, grinds up to reach deeper inside the elf. “You’re always so desperate for it.”

Synvar thrashes on top of him, reaches up and back to dig his hands into the fur at his neck. He holds onto his scruff while his other hand fings purchase on Raw’s hip and he digs his claws in.

Raw picks up the pace, the sick squelch of Synvar’s abused hole becomes the loudest sound in the room, second to Raw’s heaving breath. He pulls down and grinds up again, and Synvar goes rigid.

“A-again. Sir, again.” He begs and once more, Raw is helpless against his pretty begging. He takes hold of Syn’s hips and repeats the action, keeps his thrusts short and likely bruises the elf with how hard he jerks him down onto his cock.

But Syn goes wild, his mouth goes slack and suddenly his body is clenching down around Raw as he comes. Hardly. Only a small dribble comes out of the elf’s dick, but Synvar goes pliant over him, sated.

“You good, baby?” Raw asks through rough pants, seeing Synvar lose it has only propelled him closer to the end. When Synvar nods, Raw licks at his neck with a rumble.

It’s not long before Raw pulls him down for a final time, throwing his head back with a loud snarl as he comes inside his partner again. He’ll never get over the feeling, over the tightness Synvar provides around his knot, over how eager the elf is for it.

Synvar hums, content and paws at Raw’s hands.

Unable to deny the request, the Worgen gives the elf control over them and rumbles when Syn tucks their hands against his chest. “We done?”

Syn nods and stretches out a leg, letting it fall limply over Raw’s. “Mhm.” He murmurs.

“Fucked you tired, huh?”

When Synvar at least has the energy to laugh, Raw relaxes a bit, knowing that his partner isn’t completely out of commission from their romp.

“What was it y’said?” Syn says with a sleepy slur. “Good cock takes the fight right outta me.”

Raw laughs, shuffles them back up the pillows so that they’re more comfortable while they wait for his knot to go down. He curls around the elf, noses at Syn’s neck and face, licks over his shoulders. “That it does.”


End file.
